


Hazy Hookup

by emptyswimmingpools



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: Almost smut, Drinking, How Do I Tag This, M/M, relatively sad ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyswimmingpools/pseuds/emptyswimmingpools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Intoxicated and in love, Troye really couldn't help himself, and just <em>had</em> to get closer to Connor. Perhaps neither of them were expecting to wake up unclothed lying next to each other the following day, but the question is: does it end in heartbreak or romance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hazy Hookup

Troye wasn't entirely sure how it had happened.

One minute he was sitting at the bar, innocently sipping on his drink, engaging in casual conversation with the friends he had invited out with him, and the next, he was in the corner of the club with his lips pressed up against Connor's. Not that he was particularly complaining, though, because he had liked Connor for a while now, and fuck, kissing him after all that time felt oddly relieving.

After months of relentless crushing on Connor, it felt good to be able to express his feelings somehow (even if he had to get drunk to do so). But on the other hand, he wasn't properly thinking of the consequences/outcomes at that point. You could say he just got lost in the moment.

It was sort of scary, because it was the moment Troye had been anticipating for quite some time, and there was still a chance it wouldn't be as dreamy as he wanted. There was an element of fear in that Troye hated love, because he had always been a bit paranoid that his would end up terribly. He loved the boy so much it was painstakingly destroying his insides, and he couldn't bear to let that go to waste.

Regardless of Troye's scattered doubts, he could wholeheartedly say that he was having a good time with Connor.

Connor was a good kisser, Troye had found. He was passionate, and it wasn't too hard or soft, and he knew exactly what he was doing. It was clear he was no stranger to this - he was experienced, which made it much more enjoyable. The kiss held a lot of meaning to it. There was a certain lust behind it that made Troye's head spin and his knees weak, which although sounded rough, was an addicting feeling that Troye couldn't quite put into words; it was utterly ineffable.

The thing is, though, that Troye wanted this all to stop. He wanted to pull away from the kiss and walk away and face the following day as if nothing had ever happened between himself and Connor. He desired ignorance and memory loss to every kiss, but it felt somewhat impossible to do so.

It was like Connor had a grasp on Troye that was too tight to escape from. He played slave to the kissing, the emotion, the touching. . . all of it. There was no way out - he was in too deep; drowning in the heat of their bodies pressed up against each other so confined. He was trapped in a cage of seductivity and all he could think about was Connor, Connor, Connor.

Wandering hands made their way down Troye's sides, exploring his body like it was some kind of map. Troye reciprocated; the first of many moans escaped Connor's mouth, and Troye sighed with content.

He moved his lips away from Connor's and instead tuned is attention to a different body part, attaching his lips to his neck. He started to kiss, suck and bite the exposed skin, and if Connor wasn't as overwhelmed by the sensation, he was sure he would've done the same in return. He pulled away after a short while, revealing rather noticeable pink marks coating the area.

Their actions were desperate and messy, and it was very, very clear that the two were both drunk; after Connor whispered something about going back to his place in Troye's ear, the two stumbled across the room, clinging helplessly onto each other for support, gazing at each other as if nothing else mattered in the world but them and that moment. Love, you could call it - Troye was too drunk to tell what it was, he just knew he liked it.

 

* * *

 

The morning after was an odd experience. Troye woke up with a headache so large he found it considerably hard to concentrate on his surroundings. Even just the small amount of light coming from the gap between the curtains made him squint; after a while he became used to this, as his eyes adjusted.

The room was pale, and his lanky limbs were tangled with the white-grey duvet cover and another person - Connor.

And that was when last night hit him.

His thoughts were a jumbled mess of uncertainty and regret, and though he tried desperately to remember the details, all he could remember were the basics: he went to a club, got drunk and slept with Connor, and now he didn't know what to do.

He figured running away wasn't an option, so he'd have to deal with talking to Connor, which he knew would most likely be emotionally destroying. It could lead to disagreements, heartbreak, or perhaps even both, and that intimidated Troye greatly.

His thoughts were interrupted when from beside him in the bed, he heard Connor groan, and mumble a grouchy "good morning," and for a moment, Troye convinced himself that things would be okay.

"And to you, too," he said, sitting up and stretching.

Connor shifted and also sat up, but swung his legs over so he was sat at the end of the bed, with his legs dangling over the floor. "So... last night, huh?"

Troye chuckled. "Wild night, yeah," he commented briefly.

A silence followed, as if Connor was carefully choosing his next few words in the time spent quiet. It was an uncomfortable silence due to the anticipation and unpredictability of where the conversation would go next, and though Troye tried to block it out of his thoughts, it didn't seem to work. He sighed. All he could do was hope it would end up going well, and if it didn't, he would have to suck it up, no matter how much he was hurt by it.

"Do you regret it?" Connor asked, finally. Well, that was a lot of waiting for a question as simple as that. . .

"I don't know," Troye whispered, and it was a lie, because he certainly didn't regret anything that had happened. He just didn't want to say yes because he feared rejection.

"Oh," Connor said, and it was followed by a brief pause before he spoke up again. "Do you want to forget it? Pretend it never happened?"

Troye hesitated. Should he tell him the truth? Admit his feelings? There was a flaw in the questions, however. Troye was scared. Scared of losing Connor, and if saying yes prevented this from happening, then fuck, he was going to say it. And so he did, regretfully.

"Yes," he spat out. The words left a bitter taste on his tongue and made him want to cringe.

"Alright," Connor said bluntly. "No hard feelings, right? No awkwardness between us?" he questioned, which gave Troye just the least bit of hope, because hey, at least he still wanted to see him and be friends.

"No, no. Not at all, Con," he said, letting the affectionate nickname slip out, to which Connor smiled slightly at. Only slightly, but it was still there, which made Troye's heart do that fluttery thing.

"Good."

And although the conversation was friendly instead of harsh and upsetting, it still crushed Troye's insides, because this wasn't what he wanted at all; he wanted Connor, and he had just let him slip through his fingers, all because he was afraid of getting stuck in an unrequited mess and losing Connor as a friend.

At the end of the day, he would rather have kept Connor as a friend than an awkward ex-fuckbuddy, or whatever the hell their relationship even was (undefinable, most likely), even if it hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> HI so as of december 19th this work has been edited for the better. the original is gone entirely
> 
> id also like to state that i lit have no ...experience, so apologies if that element sucked lol
> 
> anyway i hope u enjoyed reading. love u all endlessly <3


End file.
